


Joy, By Any Other Name

by 1000PaperCranes



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s02e25 Bread and Circuses, Human Emotions, M/M, No Beta: We die like mne, No Shakespear of Any Kind - Sorry?, THAT Scene - You Know The One, Trapped, Vulcan logic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 05:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20942840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000PaperCranes/pseuds/1000PaperCranes
Summary: The obligatory Bread and Circuses fic.While Kirk sleeps the night away with a slave girl, Spock and McCoy get into an argument about logic and emotions.  So, what else is new?Well... let's just say Scottie would have bet his best brew and lost it.  Good thing he wasn't there.





	Joy, By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Many of you may have noticed that TOS has no set timeline. The stardates don't match the broadcast order and there are very few references to previous episodes. For a more concrete example: Chekov is in pretty much every episode of season two, but during the Trouble with Tribbles (episode 15) Kirk and Spock are suddenly surprised by Chekov's Russian revisionist history. The best explanation for this, as Chekov is a member of the bridge crew, is that chronologically, this is his 'first' mission on the Enterprise. So, in accounting with Star Trek's I'm-not-going-to-worry-about-it timeline, I figure that any episodes directly contrary to Spock and McCoy having a relationship occur BEFORE this story.

As Spock pulled on the bars of their cell, he was not unaware of the doctor watching. He _was_ unaware of the soft, fond smile the doctor wore. Spock yanked on the door, resulting in a clatter that had very little to do with structural instability and very much more to do with being a door.

“Angry, Mr. Spock? Or frustrated, perhaps?” McCoy’s tone was far more mellow than usual, but Spock was not inclined to ponder on that at this time.

“Such emotions are foreign to me, Doctor,” he tried to dismiss the conversation before it began. “I am merely testing the strength of the door.”

“For the fifteenth time.” McCoy sounded almost settled, his opinion on Spock’s actions was either oddly absent or oddly pleasant, given their situation.

Spock ignored the conundrum the doctor presented in favor of finding _some_ weakness in their cell. The walls were hewn from solid stone; the door made from industrial grade high-carbon steel. The fifteenth time, indeed. The lags did not slip, the bars did not warp, the hinges did not give, and the lock barely rattled.

“Spock.” McCoy stepped up behind him as he examined the welds: thick and imprecise, _ugly_ for a weld, but incredibly sturdy. “Spock, uh…” McCoy grabbed onto one of the bars and Spock quickly schooled his features. When had he lost control of them? But he was unable to give the doctor his attention. He was too… _anxious_. “I know we’ve, uh, had our disagreements. Uh, maybe they’re jokes. I don’t know. As Jim says, we’re often not sure ourselves sometimes.” The doctor seemed entirely unsure of what _he_ wanted to say. Whatever it was, was a struggle. “But, uh, what I’m trying to say is—”

“Doctor,” Spock cut him off, the fraying of his nerves accelerated to an intolerable level. “I am seeking a means of escape. Will you please be brief?”

Contrary to Spock’s experience, McCoy smiled. “Well, what I’m trying to say is that you saved my life in the arena.”

Why was the doctor restating facts? “Yes, that’s quite true.”

McCoy’s expression finally fell. “I’m trying to thank you, you pointed-eared hobgoblin!” The man’s growling was much more predictable.

“Oh.” Spock’s thoughts raced for a second. “Yes. You humans have that emotional need to express gratitude.” Perhaps now McCoy would be induced to stop wasting his time. “You’re welcome, I believe, is the correct response.” Spock put distance between them. 

Then his mouth ran away with him. “However, Doctor, you must remember that I am entirely motivated by logic. The loss of our ship’s surgeon, whatever I may think of his relative skill, would mean a reduction in the–” Spock crouched to check the lower hinge– “efficiency of the Enterprise and therefore—” McCoy grabbed Spock by the bicep, forcing his back up against the wall.

“Do you know why you’re not afraid to die, Spock?” Spock stared at him, startled, then sank back, knowing he would not like what came next. “You’re more afraid of living. Each day you stay alive is just one more day you might slip and let your human half peek out.” Spock turned away, ostensibly intent on ignoring the doctor’s probing. “That’s it, isn’t it? Insecurity. Why you wouldn’t know what to do with a _genuine_, _warm_, decent feeling…”

McCoy trailed off without finishing, the insult dead before it truly began. It was out of place. Spock had a realization: McCoy was not mad at him. He was picking a fight; to pass the time and relieve his own terror. Their shared terror. Spock turned back to the doctor, astounded that the other man had read him so accurately. He did not know what to do in this situation. Neither of them did. “Really, doctor?” Spock challenged.

McCoy deflated. “I know,” he conceded the whole charade. “I’m worried about Jim, too.”

Spock felt disquieted in a way he had never known before. No one had _ever_ understood him. Not even his mother. He started to turn away, insides churning with emotion, but McCoy’s voice stopped him once again.

“And I talk about your ears all the time because I like them.”

Spock turned back to him, feeling… lightheaded? Surely emotion did not cause such physiological responses in a Vulcan who was not out of control. Was he out of control?

There was something humorous about the doctor’s eyes, but overall his face was serious. “And while I’m confessing things–” here all mirth disserted him “– I pick at you when I’m frustrated. Especially when you deny having emotions. Fine: your emotions aren’t human; logic cleans up the bits and shards ours tend to fracture into unnecessarily; but at least some of that wiring in there _is_ human, and it can’t take the strain. I’m worried you’re going to hurt yourself bottling up every little thing.”

The doctor then took a nonsequitur, but Spock was too stunned, and too familiar, not to allow the man time to bring it back around. “Human children will bully _anyone_ for _anything_ to make themselves feel socially secure. _Adults_ reserve their bullying, the smart ones anyway, for inciting a necessary change in someone. That’s why we call it peer pressure. Jim and I are your peers. We pressure you to… to– to find a happy medium with your human side.” McCoy searched his face.

“Spock, I don’t want you to stop being logical. I don’t want you to start having outbursts. I want you to have emotions in a way that is healthy for _you_. Not for a human, nor for a Vulcan, for _you_.” McCoy’s imploring expression broke into a relieved, almost proud, smile. “You have no idea how delighted I am to see you pulling stupidly on those bars, like you’ll ever be stronger than steel. You’re worried, consumed with it I’d say, but here you are channeling that emotion into a healthy outlet instead of squashing it down until I’m terrified a circuit is going to overload in there somewhere. That’s good for your human half, and for the Vulcan you’ve found logic in it; you must keep trying because something _could_ give. It won’t.” He grinned wider. “But it could. So, definition of insanity or not, by all means, keep trying.” McCoy made a sweeping gesture at their confines.

Spock snatched his hand out of the air. Ignoring the intimacy, he allowed the doctor’s emotions to flood in. Surely… but McCoy was genuine. All of it. The joy, the pride. Wonder, fear, gratitude, frustration, _GLEE_. So much more Spock couldn’t name.

He let go.

McCoy stared at his hand, turning it over and over. “That tingled,” he declared finally. Spock had deliberately kept the link one sided, but apparently the doctor was not telepathically insensate. “Spock? Are you alright?”

Spock licked his lips. “Alright, Doctor?”

“You look like something’s just come unstuck. Like your world is crashing down around you.” McCoy’s expression was thick with concern.

Spock nodded, finding himself short of breath. “Indeed, it has, Doctor.”

“What?” McCoy’s eyes widened in alarm. “Why now? What happened?” He grabbed up Spock’s wrist, checking his pulse.

Licking his lips again, Spock endeavored not to pant. “You, Doctor.” He sounded faint.

_“Me?”_ McCoy jerked back in alarm, but Spock grabbed McCoy’s wrist in turn. “What did I do!” It wasn’t an accusation; the man was genuinely horrified, and half-frantic.

Spock almost said ‘nothing’ in the human way but chose a more logical statement. “You…” Spock could hardly believe it. Wouldn’t believe it if he couldn’t feel it for himself. McCoy of all people. “Everyone wants me to be who _they_ want me to be, except you.”

Tears clung to the doctor’s lashes as he blinked owlishly, before breaking into the widest grin yet. Spock stared, stunned, into McCoy’s face. He examined the emotion breaking out across the human’s features, felt the corresponding turmoil of positive emotions at the surface of the sea that was Leonard McCoy’s mind. McCoy did not cry, but he did hiccup twice. 

Finally, the good doctor swallowed hard and shook his head. “Took you long enough.”

Without warning, he collapsed into Spock, burying his eyes in the Vulcan’s shoulder. Still McCoy did not cry. However, such boundful emotions with so much contact between them was enough to overwhelm the barrier of their clothing. Spock found himself swept away, tumbled in an ocean of emotion. It was far more pleasant than he had ever imagined.

Perhaps this was why humans endured all the suffering of negative emotions, despite their predominance.

“Of course, it is, you ninny.”

Spock was unable to determine if he had spoken aloud or if the doctor had heard him telepathically, but he could feel a ripple of amusement above all the frothing elation. McCoy placed his hands on Spock’s shoulders, pushing himself up from their embrace to look down into the Vulcan’s face.

“Human’s are perfectly logical, Mister Spock. We’ve just evolved to include our emotions in that logic.” A tear finally dripped off McCoy’s lashes, followed by another. Yet, he was still grinning. “When you said you’d never been happy before in your life… Why, that was the worst thing I’d ever heard.” The twang in McCoy’s voice was becoming more prominent. “I drank myself into a stupor that night. Did you know that? I realized that the only happiness you would ever allow yourself to know was fake, a farce. I felt that ‘happiness,’ Mr. Spock. It was nothing like the real thing.”

“I believe I am feeling the real thing now.” Spock found himself privately delighted to be looking up into this human’s face, warm with body heat, and content with the weight of him

“No, Spock.” Spock quirked an eyebrow in challenge. McCoy laughed wetly, still grinning, more tears falling from his eyes. “You’re feeling me feel it. We’ll work on the real thing later.” He took a deep shuttering breath, then added as an afterthought. “If you want. I don’t really care as long as you’re healthy and sane.”

McCoy’s arms went weak, but Spock held him up with one hand. McCoy’s heart beat nearly as fast as Spock’s own beneath his palm. “If humans are logical,” he asked. It wasn’t a challenge; he was utterly adrift. “And you are happy; why are you crying?”

“Because it’s got nowhere else to go.” McCoy laughed, breathless. “When human emotions boil over, crying is one of the pressure releases. That’s why women cry, Commander, when a man would get in a fight. They simply have no desire to break their hand on your face.” He laughed again. “And that’s why when I’m so damn happy I can’t explain it, I cry. I cried when my daughter was born, and I’m crying now. It’s got nowhere else to go.” McCoy grinned like a maniac. “Unless I kiss you.” His eyes were bright and dancing; it could be a joke. “But to be honest, I’d probably keep crying. I’m _overwhelmed_, Spock.”

“Yes. I can see that.” Spock found himself grinning. He didn’t know when it began, but he did know that he suddenly wanted to… _taste_ Doctor McCoy’s mirth. Did emotions have a flavor?

“Let’s find out.” McCoy’s ecstasy seemed to have broken as he looked over Spock’s face for confirmation. Consent. Spock still did not know if McCoy was hearing his words or his thoughts, but suddenly did not care. This whole situation was completely illogical. And likely passed, if the doctor’s expression was any indication, but Spock gave a decisive nod anyway. McCoy’s face broke open in a beaming smile, a whole new wave of euphoria crashing over them.

Still grinning, McCoy pressed their lips together. It was delightful and warm. Spock’s focus shattered and he lost all track. Everything melted together, except for the occasional damp half-giggle that escaped from McCoy. Spock let himself drift, let his mind become a swirl of pleasant physical sensation and borrowed emotional highs. 

Slowly, they eddied out. The kiss ended. Eventually, Spock came back to himself, still pressed into the same corner, though laying now. Doctor McCoy was stretched out on top of him, drowsing, bodyweight warm and heart against Spock’s own. He wanted to stay here—No. He wanted to stay like this, _somewhere else_.

Spock lifted McCoy without rousing him. He carried the exhausted man to the bench in their cell, as far from the guards as he could get. When Spock set him down, McCoy did wake.

“Spock?”

“Best not to be found in such a vulnerable position, Doctor.”

McCoy grinned sleepily. “Back to that damned Vulcan logic, eh, Spock?” 

The joke was obvious. Spock fought down a smile, but found it wasn’t there. His face was perfectly neutral, even though his mind laughed. Fascinating. He did allow himself the indulgence of running his hand through McCoy’s hair until the doctor fell back to sleep with a sigh. 

How unexpected. He was deeply emotional, but more a peace with himself than ever before. Spock felt no need to meditate. He knew what the emotions were. He knew why he felt them. They posed no threat to him, his friend, or their mission. The emotions simply _were_. He batted them back and tried to think logically about their predicament. Logically, the most practical way to escape would be to wait until someone opened their cage for them. Which would surely happen before too long as they were fodder for the games.

That should have been obvious last night.

Fascinating. Perhaps the doctor was right about his human half needing an emotional outlet. He had indulged in the doctor’s emotions. Spock wondered what would happen if he indulged his own… every so often.

Occasionally.

The next time McCoy was willing to kiss him. It was an experiment after all; there was no need to dawdle. Though it _could_ wait. And at the moment probably should. Spock schooled his thoughts and began plotting as many ways to overcome their captors as the good doctor was capable of performing.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it was worth it. Let me know if there is anything I need to fix!


End file.
